


Burn my heart and it won't hurt

by PalladsAndConverse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Storytime, dead!louis, ghost!louis, kind of, once more idk why i did this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalladsAndConverse/pseuds/PalladsAndConverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' dead, and tells Harry his story.</p><p>(Or the one where Louis and Harry's grandfather met)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn my heart and it won't hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Second time posting :D  
> I guess this randomly popped up in my head  
> this is actually my first story, my first post was my second  
> fucked up posting schedule but ok  
> note that I have no idea about Harry's grandparents

“So, you’re dead,” I stated. Louis fiddled a bit with his shirt, before nodding slowly. I looked away, and tried to process the new info I got. “But, how?” I asked, dumbly. He frowned. “You still don’t get it, Curly?” My nickname rolled off his tongue perfectly, as I couldn’t help but notice. I shrugged. “I don’t,” I said. It wasn’t that scary, sitting next to him, so I still didn’t really believe him.

“What should I get? You only said you were dead. You were never this serious about something before,” I noticed. “I think you’re speaking the truth, but I don’t believe it,” I muttered before looking back at him. He sighed.

“Most people would’ve run away already, you know?” He stared at my covers, as they were the most interesting things in the world. The blue-green circles weren’t that more interesting than his striped shirt, I thought.

“First, I’m not ‘most people’. I’m Harry. Second, I didn’t, so do I get an explanation already?” I raised a brow. “I’m genuinely interested, you know,” I continued, mimicking his tone he used before. He sent me a glare, but looked away as quickly. “You should,” he said. I sighed in annoyance.

“You should really stop saying ‘you know’, just saying,” I told him. Silence met us.

“Jesus, Lou, what are you even thinking? You’re saying you’re dead, but I have known you for two months now! You weren’t dead yesterday, now, were you?” I snapped. If glares could kill, I had probably killed my roommate by now. Well, if he wasn’t dead that was.

“I was dead even before you came here,” said Louis. I looked away, angry with him.

“Well, apparent zombie, enlighten me with an explanation.” I didn’t even think before saying it, but apparently it had great effect on him.

“Do not, and I repeat, not call me a zombie. Never.” His gaze darkened, and he stood up, probably making his way out of the room, but I stopped him before he could exit.

“Wait, Lou, I’m sorry!” I called, not wanting him to leave without any explanation. “I didn’t know you were actually serious about being, well, dead and all. . .” I muttered, and he stood still, back faced to me. Moments passed, before him sighing and turning to me again.

“I could never be angry at you, Haz. You’re actually the first person in an eternity to talk to me normally,” he admitted. “I don’t want to lose you, too. Can we redo our introductions? Just. . . To make a new start without secrets?” My eyes widened. “I will tell the story of my life immediately after you’re done,” he promised, seeing through my doubts.

I frowned after this. As if I kept secrets from him.

“I swear, Lou, if this is a big joke to screw me over with Zayn, you _will_ be dead by the end of this day,” I threatened, but he chuckled.

“Too bad that I’m already dead, then, I guess,” he only said. “You first.”

My eyebrows raised once more, but I sighed, and reluctantly gave in.

“My name is Harry Styles, Harry from Harold, my grandfather’s name. My middle name is Edward, and I lived in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire for my whole life, until 2 months ago. I moved to Doncaster because my Grandfather lived here. I adored him, but he died two years ago. He had moved from here to Cheshire for an unknown reason, so I wanted to know what it was. Maybe this mansion would bring me some clues, as it was his house when he was alive.” I started. Louis’ eyes widened for a second, but then he motioned me to continue. I shrugged.

“There’s not much to tell about my life. I worked in a bakery, and that’s also where I discovered my speciality in baking a carrot cake.” I chuckled lightly. “My mom, Anne, lives with her husband, Robin, still in Cheshire. Robin isn’t my dad, but he does feel like one. Mom kept her maiden name, though, so she’s still a Cox, while I’m a Styles like Robin. I also have a sister, Gemma, but she’s off to Uni since I was fifteen. Oh, and I also am gay,” I finished.

“If that summarises your life, you’re pretty boring. Too bad I love you, I guess.” I pouted, not happy with the response I got, and threw my also blue-green circle patterned pillow to his face.

“Twat.”

“You love me.”

I sighed in defeat.

“I’m starting to think why.”

He frowned, and threw the pillow back to the corner of my bed.

“Nice throw.”

“You look pretty submissive in bed. Are you a virgin?”

My eyes widened, and I choked on my saliva.

“Ex- cuse me?!” I coughed. He laughed loudly, and I pouted slash frowned, I don’t even know anymore. I was angry.

“I may be a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I’m immediately a sub you know?”

He was still grinning like mad, and I swallowed the saliva I just choked on.

“Yeah, pretty submissive.”

“Shut the fuck up, you cunt.”

“Ooooooh, angry Hazza huh?”

“Don’t call me Hazza.”

“You love it.”

I sighed in defeat, again. This guy, even dead he was as sassy as his arse looked.

“Anyway, it’s your turn to ‘reintroduce yourself’,” I told him. His shoulders immediately fell, and I started to kind of feel bad about ruining his good mood, and our banter. He sighed, and dropped himself on the bed, before looking at me and grinning, as to say; ‘don’t interrupt me, but please don’t leave me?’, ‘I won’t leave you either’, and the most important one; ‘I’m not mad, just nervous’.

I nodded, finally allowing him to tell his story.

“My name is Louis William Tomlinson. I lived in London most of my life, but moved to Doncaster when I was 16. That was in 1965 . . .?”

My eyes widened, and I sucked in a sharp breath. He motioned his hand to keep me silent, but he looked awfully uncomfortable himself. I nodded again, but this time with more reluctance. He just continued.

“I was born at Christmas Eve, 1949, which makes me about 64 and a half years old at this very moment. I had four sisters, but they’re long dead now. Charlotte, aka Lottie, Felicité, aka Fizzie and Daisy and Phoebe. The last two were twins.”

Louis looked up to the dangling lamp hanging on my ceiling, and smiled a genuine smile. His family must’ve made him happy, if they have that effect on him when he only thinks about them, I thought. Then I remembered they were all dead already, which Louis probably remembered at the same time. The room atmosphere fell and we were left in an uncomfortable silence over us.

Dropping out of a trance, Louis shook his head and sighed.

“Like I said, I moved here when I was about 16 years old, and lived in a mansion kind of like this. Just outside the city, in the fields. It was placed over there.”

His finger raised, and pointed at the green grass field opposite the house. I looked outside, at the window, and my mouth fell open in awe.

The field was even greener than when I looked out of the window from the ground floor, and the trees and flowers popping out of the fertile ground were almost hypnotising. My face wore a smile when I turned around to face Louis again, but he looked so pale. _Dead_ , almost.

 “There was a house there once.”

His voice broke. I almost sobbed at his sight. He apparently was dead, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel, I noticed. “The fire burned everything away. The garden, the house, the kids, the parents, the memories everybody had of us. . .”

I frowned, and opened my mouth to say something, but he shushed me before I could even let out a whimper of sympathy.

“I wasn’t home that day, I was at the park. Me and my friends had built tree houses there once, and we had a get together. If I had known that would happen, I would’ve stayed inside. . .

“When I got home, everything had burned to ashes. I was eighteen at the time, but I broke. From then, I lived with Liam, my friend, and worked as hard as I could to get an own place in London. At that time, London was quite the city to live in, and I saw hope there. Going back there was my first mistake. I did have a stable job, a nice apartment and such, but it felt awful. I was missing something.

“I first thought it was my family I was missing. That wasn’t really weird. After all, I lost them all in a fire. I went back to the cemetery in outer-Doncaster, and visited them. That’s when I saw her.”

I frowned. Who? Louis’ fists tightened and I quickly grabbed them to let him relax again, to let him remember I was still here, and he wasn’t at the graves anymore.

He smiled a sad smile, one I never wanted to see on his face. He just continued.

“She was looking at my father’s grave, and gently put a rose on it. Then, she walked away like nothing had happened, but I followed her. She had gone to the house- I mean the open field my house once was- also put a rose there, and laughed. I stood behind a tree, watching the whole ordeal, not understanding any of it.

“That week, I slept at Liam’s again, wanting to know who the woman was, and why she did that the day before. I looked for her, or any sign she’d been there, but none. Only next week, exactly seven days after, she reappeared and did the same routine, except the laughing. She just whispered things I didn’t hear, being too far away.

“I was starting to get suspicious, so I followed her to her house, which wasn’t that far away. In fact, we’re sitting in the middle of it.”

This time, he let me freak out.

“You mean, that lady’s house was my grandfather’s house?” I stuttered. “This was around when again?” 

“1969? No, 1968, around July,” he replied. My frown deepened. “But, my grandfather-”

“-is kind of part of my story.” I squealed, but not in a good way.

“You knew my grandfather? How old was he? Were you really neighbours? What about-” I rattled, but Louis groaned. “I said don’t interrupt, and what do you do? Can I continue?” He pleaded. I shut my mouth, and shrugged a moment later.

“Continue, I do want to know the end.”

“Okay, then. The next day, because I didn’t want to look suspicious myself, I knocked on the door of this mansion. An old mister opened the door. He was around forty years old and looked rather like you. I asked if a lady lived here, and he called his wife. The lady of the day before and the week before came into view, which didn’t surprise me. When I got a cuppa from them, I asked about the fire, and if they knew anything. The gentleman the old man was, he politely said no, and apologised. His wife, though, knew my dad. They were best friends in high school. I said I was a student, and I was looking for info for an article about the fire from 3 years ago. The man was very disappointed in himself to not be able to help me, but the wife seemed very closed up about it. I was still very suspicious, and I wanted to talk to the lady herself.

“When I told her who I was, she flipped, saying I should be dead, even trying to choke me. The man, though, heard her attacking, and immediately saved me.”

“And, let me guess, the old man was my grandfather? Harold Cox?” I asked, already knowing what the answer would be. Louis nodded slowly.

 “I told Harold to leave the house immediately, because his wife was a fucking psychopath, and he did.”

I frowned.

“So that’s the reason my grandfather never had a wife until his fifties? Was that the reason my mom wasn’t born until his sixties?”

Louis shrugged.

“Probably.”

My face fell, and I nodded slowly.

“So, apparently this wasn’t only your story, now, was it?”

Louis let out a dry chuckle. “Apparently not, no. I’m not done, though.”

I hummed. “Continue.”

“Since Harold had left the other day, I decided to end it all with Sicilia, so I went to her house for one last time. This time, though, I had a gun with me.”

My eyes widened, and I inhaled a sharp breath. Did he. . .?

Louis chuckled. “Yeah, I did.”

“You shot her?” I screamed, but Louis shook his head, looking at me.

“I didn’t kill her by only shooting her.” He chuckled. “I liked it, her blood on my hands.”

My heart rate sped up, and I gasped loudly. “Liked it? You fucking psychopath!” I shouted. Louis’ gaze darkened immediately, and pushed me on the bed. He chuckled loudly, but I didn’t trace any humour in it. Holding me down by my wrists, he sat on my torso, and looked at me, grinning like a madman.

“She killed my family, Harry! She deserved to die!” He screamed, his voice so messed up and broken that I didn’t even recognise it anymore. Sudden tears fell from his cheek down on mine. I wriggled, trying to get away from his grasp, but to no avail. His right hand kept my wrists above my head, close to the head of the bed.

“I thought you’d understand, Harry. You were his grandson,” Louis whispered. My eyes shot open.

“You fucking knew?!”

“Of course I knew, I thought you’d know why I did it! I spared Harold’s life, I killed the murderer of my family, don’t you understand?!” He screamed.

“No, I fucking don’t!” Our tears mixed on my face, mine dwelling from my eyes. “Can’t you forgive?!”

“No, I fucking can’t!” He cried. “She deserved it, she deserved to be tortured until her death! She deserved to be shot, to be stabbed, to be choked, to be burned like she did with them! She didn’t deserve his fucking heart!”

My struggling stopped.

“Did- did your father love her?” I carefully asked. Louis’ sobs filled the silence we had found ourselves in, tears still wetting the blue-green patterned covers underneath us.

“Louis?”

My voice was barely a whisper. Louis opened his eyes, and for the first time, they looked real again. Their shine was finally back where they should’ve been, their pupils wide and irises barely visible. Red covered the what-was-once-white-part and tears were spilled everywhere over his angelic face. Hair a mess and eyelashes long. My breath was caught in my lungs, and my heart fluttered.

“Can you love, if you can’t forgive?”

Louis’ beautiful eyes shot open, as my illusion of the angel disappeared for me. The silence returned, Louis’ sobbing died down and my breathing slowly became normal again.

He sniffed.

“. . . I had killed myself in the same fire, after she’d died. Hell kicked me out, saying I had to punish myself living on this Earth, this damned Earth for eternity.” He muttered after a while.

“They cursed me, saying when I finally forgive her, I could go to heaven. I didn’t want to, though. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

I smiled, and took my wrists back.

“Louis?”

He hummed, falling next to me, losing all his strength of his outburst.

“Can you forgive her, if you know you’re loved again?” I whispered.

He looked down.

“When I lost them, I had nothing. I was so alone, so lonely. . .” He pressed his face gently in my hair, as if that was what calmed him.

“Louis?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I love you, okay?”

His eyes shot open, and he stared at me. I gently smiled, and raised my hand to wipe away the tears he had stained on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, once more, because he knew he’d die again. That he’d leave me too.

And I cried, because I realised, in this hour I got closer to a person than I had ever done.

That he’d promised he wouldn’t leave me if he would tell me about himself, his agony and his story.

And that same person took my heart with him up to heaven.


End file.
